


this life is not yet rated

by horusporus



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, Grieving, M/M, Pre-Slash, city on the edge of forever, kirk gets beaten up of course, tos eps in a rebooted 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:26:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horusporus/pseuds/horusporus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for this prompt: "Something- anything, a single scene, whatever- from the TOS episode 'city on the edge of forever' with nu!Kirk and nu!Spock etc, preferably not more than a couple of months after th end of the film. 'Cause really, how differently would they all react, let's face it. 'specially Kirk.</p>
<p>And yeah, gonna go out on a longshot and say Keeler/Kirk. But since I know i'll need more than that, Spock/Kirk is loved like woah as well."</p>
            </blockquote>





	this life is not yet rated

**Author's Note:**

> i. [the original prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/379.html?thread=293755#t293755)  
> ii. I wrote this back in June 2009... and only now I'm posting it here. I am clearly a success.

Upon their return to their own time, Jim found himself unbearably curious about the period of history they had just left. In his downtime, half the tabs open in his PADD were entries North Atlantic history, circa 1927-1939. He occupied himself with the minutiae of the time, searching for something, anything in the official histories, firsthand accounts, secondhand anecdotes, stories and tales.

His latest distraction did not seem to interfere with his command of the Enterprise, and if there was a glint in Bones’s eye or a considering glance on Spock’s face, he’s had enough practice of dissembling to make his escape.

But the fact remains: what was one insignificant person in the wrenching roil of humanity?

\--------------

Here were what he did not know about Edith Keeler:

How old she really was.

How many siblings she had, if any.

Why was she in New York? Was she an alien, in her own way, like him? What would cause an English girl to cross the ocean to a strange land on her own at a time when chaperones were still the order of the day for well-bred women? A sweetheart? What made her stay?

Could she have been as great as Spock said? This unassuming person, who was to have been one of the most inspirational figures of a 20th Century that now no longer existed.

How her voice sounded in the morning, soaked with sleep.

\---------------

Here were what he did know about Edith Keeler:

Edith was a dreamer. She saw a future that was his present, with a surety that bordered on clairvoyance.

Edith was an optimist. She took a chance on two (no, three) strange men and almost single-handedly ran a mission, and she was not even 30.

Edith was not a fool. She did not know them (him) but she understood well enough, for a person of early 20th century Earth.

Edith's cries were high and hoarse when her death crashed onto her on the tarmac.

\---------------

He was becoming something of an amateur expert on 1930s North America. Combined with his fascination on how random chance could affect history (a morbid one, according to McCoy), he contemplated endlessly on the pieces that lay before him in this metaphorical board of time.

History was not something easy to unravel and unpack. Pulling one string might set off an unintended chain of events, unimaginable in its reverberations.

A crazed McCoy saved someone in 1930s North America and somehow caused humanity to never go beyond the skies; somehow led to no Zefram Cochrane, no warp drive, no Vulcan discovery, no Starfleet. A grieving Nero destroyed the USS Kelvin and the tsunami of that action led to the shore of James T. Kirk fastracked through command and into the seat of the youngest captain in Starfleet history.

Sometimes the solution was a messy jury-rigged operation intended to only stop further damage to the timeline. Sometimes you had the luxury of a clean surgical strike – you went in, you removed the time pollution, you went out. Temporal directive obeyed.

But no one said anything about time polluting you.

\------------------

They were off-world, at a diplomatic reception celebrating the newest member of the Federation: a small unimportant world by all accounts, except that it sat on the edge of known Romulan space, so its membership was honoured as a big coup.

Jim tended to fidget more at these events, but the casual informality of their hosts went a long way in making him and the younger members of his crew comfortable. He was slowly coming to appreciate this part of command, but his place would always be at the bridge, in space, among the stars.

No land-locked love for him, thanks, he told himself firmly.

After his fifth gracious demurral of an attempt to get into his pants (he used to find that sort of attention flattering; it was simply tiresome now), he turned to Spock, who was not-so-subtly hovering near him. "Just imagine how many more I'd have if you weren't here glaring at everyone who dared," he joked.

"Vulcans do not glare, Captain."

"Bullshit," he countered easily.

There was an easiness here, standing quietly next to his First Officer. Around them, guests were milling about; Kirk absently assessed the crowd, as he was trained to do -- the newer members of his crew easily distinguished by their awestruck expressions and he could see Uhura holding court, as regal as the Prince who was very much enraptured by her -- when Spock spoke again in his quiet, measured tones, "I have noticed, Captain, that lately you've not... availed yourself of the... attention given to you."

Jim groaned. "Spock, not you too."

Bones had given him grief just before they transported down. In another life Jim Kirk would be amused that his friends measured his mental health by how much fucking he'd had (or had not). "I thought you'd be pleased - I'm taking the responsibility of command seriously and all that."

"I cannot help but notice, captain, that this new-found sense of responsibility seemed to develop upon our return from the planet where the Guardian was located."

Jim shrugged. It wasn't an untrue observation.

"Perhaps," and this was interesting. Spock was stuttering, minutely though it may be. "Perhaps we have been quick to dismiss the depth of your affections for--"

Just then, a representative of their hosts banged a small gong by the head table. Jim had never been so glad for the interruption.

\---------------------------

Of course, with his luck, the acceptance of an unremarkable world into the Federation still somehow led to a major intrigue involving Klingon espionage and a lot of punching. Bones would have a field day reknitting him together once all this was over -- provided his crew could find him before he died in this makeshift cesspit. He's chained to a wall of bare rock, but there was some slight give there, if he could just....

Well, it's just a thumb, he thought through a haze of pain. Bones could fix that well enough.

But at least he was free, that was the important thing. And the information was still secure in his head --

A loud buzzing from the wall facing the left of him, and the granite shattered apart. By the time he lifted his head, coughing roughly, there was Spock, covered in dust. He looked as severe as he always looked when he was forced to save Kirk's ass yet again, but it's a welcome sight in its familiarity.

"Perfect timing as always, Mr Spock," he slurred. "They were about to break out the truth serum." The next thing he knew Spock was by his side, holding him close. He winced as his upper right ribs -- hopefully bruised; probably fractured -- made their displeasure known.

"Jim," there was an urgency in Spock's voice, "can you walk? We need to get out of range of their dampening field before we can be beamed up."

He nodded. Or at least he tried to.

They made their way out in haste, or as much as they could with Jim's extensive injuries (man, Bones would so kill him again once he's done fixing him), when Jim stopped.

"Jim?" There was no mistaking the quiet worry in his voice, and in the careful examination of Spock's hands on his body.

"No, no, I'm fine." Jim was barely holding on, but this is important. "We gotta -- I gotta. The chief's daughter, they've got her here too."

"Captain, that's not possible. Sulu and Riley are waiting outside, but they won't be enough to do more but provide light cover for us if the alarms are raised."

Jim clutched at his shirt. "Then we make time. She's... I won't have another death on my hands, Spock, not if I can help it."

Spock moved to speak; Jim knew he was going to say no, so he made their decision for them -- he turned back towards where they came from. He could feel his lungs struggling for breath and his legs felt leaden and cold, but he had to go back. It won't take too long, he knew where they kept her.

"Captain! Jim!" It didn't take long for Spock to catch up. Spock stared hard at him, and he stared back equally hard, unmindful of the blood trailing steadily from his temple.

"We will have to be fast."

"That's what some girls used to call me back in the Academy," Jim snorted. And choked on his own blood.

"I don't believe it was ever meant as a compliment, Jim," Spock murmured as they rushed, as best they can, to F'ahya's cell.

\---------

They made it outside just as guards came pouring out of the hidden crevices of the rocky cliff face. They were more trained compared to the usual sort of thugs his crew had encountered, he could tell. For one thing, their aim was good despite the fact he and F'ahya and Spock were more than a klick away. But Jim and the Enterprise, they were better. Phaser fire whizzed by as the white glow of the transporter beam took hold.

Scotty's triumphant face was the first thing he noticed. The second was the sudden dead weight by his side. F'ahya's mouth was slack, as though in surprise. So too her eyes, but there were no longer any spark. He had seen this face too many times, he thought to himself, and I've only just been captain for 14 standard months. There was blood, but it was old, crusted -- the blood they've both earned back in their cells. What was new was the faint smoking scent of cauterized flesh. His mind felt sluggish; all he could do was place his hand on her cooling face. He could feel cold creeping in, his injuries were catching up.

There was a tug, but he held on. He had to.

"Jim, please." It was Bones holding his face towards him. "She -- let us do our job, Jim."

"Yeah, okay," he said softly. He made a decision, and said, "Mr Spock, you have the conn," and took the opportunity to pass out.

\-----

Twelve hours later, Spock was standing stiffly by his (usual) bed in Sickbay, having had just concluded his report. Apparently there's a lot you can miss after a seven-hour surgery.

"And F'ahya Lenko's body has been safely returned to her family and interred, as is their custom."

Even that.

"Good. That's-- good," he said vaguely.

There's a slight relaxation in Spock's posture and he came closer to the bed. "Jim, I -- I'm sorry."

Jim looked away. "Yeah, me too."

\----------

But a thwarted Vulcan is a persistent Vulcan, as Jim had come to learn. Three days later, when he finally received a clean bill of health from an obviously still-reluctant McCoy, Spock was waiting in front of his quarters.

"You're just lucky I'm predictable," he muttered as he keyed in his access codes.

"You are many things Captain Kirk, but 'predictable' is not one of them."

"Fallacy. You figured I'd be here, didn't you?"

Spock inclined his head, clearly not wanting to argue.

Jim took his time getting into his quarters, and made no attempt to welcome Spock in, for all the good the attempt of a cold shoulder that did. He picked up his PADD and noted the backlog of items to do. He went through the checklist, quickly dismissing the less urgent ones. Spock remained standing by his study desk, close enough to read over his shoulder if he so wished. How do you out-stubborn a Vulcan? With that thought, Jim settled on his bed, barely covering his wince as he did so. "Well?" he asked after the quiet stretched for a while.

Spock was sitting across from him, in his study chair. After a while, he began, "I must confess, Jim, I am not sure where to begin."

"Can't help you there. I don't even know why you're here," he said curtly.

Something in his answer decided things for Spock. "Captain, it wasn't your fault that F'ahya died. And-- and it wasn't your fault as well that Edith Keeler had to die."

Jim suddenly stood up. "If we're going to have this conversation, I need to be a lot drunker." He rummaged through his wardrobe, and pulled out a stash of honest-to-goodness Earth whiskey -- he had bought it early in his captaincy, and for some reason or another never found a reason to break it open. "Too bad I don't have chocolate for you Spock. And this whiskey's wasted on you. Help yourself to the synthesizer."

He settled back on the bed as Spock requested a cup of tea. He had poured himself a generous measure into his tumbler, when Spock returned to his seat. They sat in silence, punctuated by idle talk of the ship and its crew.

Eventually the gossip -- and it was gossiping, however Spock claimed to the contrary -- ran out. It didn't feel awkward this time, the silence -- the alcohol was doing its work, and Jim felt light-headed and loose. Maybe it was the painkillers, he mused. Before he could go any further, he was distracted by the scrape of hard polymer against hard polymer; Spock pushed away his cup and turned more fully towards Jim. "Captain, in the months after the destruction of Vulcan, you were a great comfort to me. You and the rest of the Enterprise," Spock amended quickly. "And is it not human nature to share one's grieving process?"

"I'm sure you know by now, Mr Spock, I am not most people." He finished his drink and quickly poured another.

Spock continued, undeterred. "Edith was special to you. This much I knew from my observations during our time in the past. I do not pretend to know the depth of your feeling for her but perhaps -- perhaps you'd like to talk?"

Jim snorted a laugh. "I didn't realise a First Officer's duties included playing head doctor."

"It's only logical that I do all I can to ensure your mental well-being as the Captain."

"Merely logical?"

"And for my own selfish reasons."

Jim looked up sharply. "Keep your reasons to yourself. I don't need pity."

"Jim. It's not pity."

It was a common misconception to say that Vulcans do not feel. They do, deeply and fiercely, but well-hidden to human eyes. Maybe Spock's human heritage made him easier to read, but at that moment Jim knew just exactly what he meant. "You can keep that too," he said shakily. "I certainly don't need that."

And maybe Spock could read him just as well. "Jim." Careful fingers pried loose the tumbler in his hands. "It has been a tiring week for you. You need to rest."

It was as if his body was waiting for its cue. It was all he could do to keep awake, but he kept his eyes open, open and trained on Spock, who was gently taking off his boots and his shirt and his pants and laid him carefully on the bed, as though it was something he did all the time.

"Spock?"

"Yes, Jim?" Spock replied calmly as he pulled the blanket up. His hands were so warm, even through the fabric. Jim was acutely conscious that Spock had one hand resting lightly above his heart.

"I'll never stop not wanting people to die, not on my watch."

"I do not expect any less from you." He leaned closer. "But this is simply a reminder: you are not alone anymore."

It was a notion that needed some getting used to.

END


End file.
